"but I think we need a more fortified shelter. No longer vacationers, now survivalists, we need to find someplace with a cellar, someplace welcoming to wanderers - a church, a school, maybe a neighborly family farm? Fragments of a heroic fantasy appear to me: we're outrunning a tunnel of wind and cloud, throwing open heavy bulkhead doors and slipping into a warm, candlelit bunker, where the shock and adrenaline of the moment fade and are replaced by an animal relief."
"With Kate's reluctant blessing, I call Sand Valley for advice. I ask the bemused and unfailingly polite attendant if the resort is tracking the storms; if there's a shelter she might recommend near - where are we, Kate? Sun Prairie? - Sun Prairie; if, generally, we're navigating a life-threatening situation, and we (Kate) should maybe start acting like it? "We're not from tornado country," I say clumsily, hoping to excuse my ignorance of standard procedure."
An hour into a three-hour drive from Milwaukee to Sand Valley, travelers encounter escalating storm conditions and debate seeking shelter. They consider a gas station or Culver's but opt for a more fortified place with a cellar, imagining a warm, candlelit bunker that eases shock and adrenaline. A call to Sand Valley elicits polite local advice and reveals anxious, self-aware banter about not being "from Tornado Country." Chris and Michael Keiser spent more than a decade transforming inland Wisconsin wilderness into a Midwestern golf mecca, a process that began in 2013 and involved their father, Mike Keiser, a noted figure in golf.
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